


Psilocybin in the PaiN

by exceptionallyunfortunate



Category: AI: The Somnium Files (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Hannibal (TV) Fusion, Bloom Park (AI: The Somnium Files), Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Episode: s01e04 Oeuf, F/M, Hannibal (TV) References, Healing Sex, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, No Aiba (AI: The Somnium Files), No Dialogue, POV Third Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Epilogue, Pseudo-Incest, Psychological Trauma, Resolution End (AI: The Somnium Files), Rope Bondage, Spoilers, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, Vaginal Fingering, sigAI (AI: The Somnium Files)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25575733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exceptionallyunfortunate/pseuds/exceptionallyunfortunate
Summary: There are those psychiatrists who believe that altered states could be used to access traumatic memories.Two months after the close of the New Cyclops Serial Killer case, Mizuki remains traumatized by the sight of her mother’s murdered corpse. On the recommendation of a reputable police consultant psychiatrist, Date suggests a bold and controversial treatment to help heal those wounds. With the help of mind-altering psilocybin mushroom tea, the two set out to Bloom Park to reenact the events of Friday, November 1, 2019.You know that thing Hannibal does with Abigail and the mushroom tea? This is that, but with child diddling instead of food. No knowledge of NBC Hannibal is required to understand this fic, but therearemajor spoilers for AI: The Somnium Files.
Relationships: Date Kaname/Okiura Mizuki
Kudos: 1





	Psilocybin in the PaiN

**Author's Note:**

> You know how it is—mind the tags and don’t partake if this isn’t your cup of tea. Get it? Tea? Ba dum tsss.
> 
> Warnings:
> 
>   * found family “incest” featuring a 12-year-old and a 42-year-old
>   * grief and PTSD
>   * consensual drugging, then dubiously consensual sex while drugged as part of a therapeutic exercise
>   * Hannibal Lector’s dubious psychiatric practices in action
>   * mushroom-induced altered state/trip
>   * mentions of canonical murder, eye trauma, stabbing, etc
>   * implied vaginal fingering of a minor
> 


It had certainly taken time and _nobody_ could claim it had been easy, but Mizuki did finally come to accept Date in his new… old body. At his core, he was the same Date that Mizuki knew—the one who had been there for her for four years when even her parents hadn’t. He had new memories, including a couple which didn’t quite make sense, not that anything ever made sense anymore. But it was him—the man who had given her his bed, taught her to fight, and solved the mystery of her parents’ deaths. He was her guardian, her family, and her protector.

And in the wake of everything that had happened, she needed protection.

Her parents had never been the best—especially not her mom. But they had been her parents. Even though Shoko’s consciousness had actually been dead for a whole year, the image of her desecrated corpse still haunted Mizuki. In dark corners, she saw that lifeless, bloody stare. During the most mundane moments of her day, the harsh reprimands of her childhood that bubbled out of the recesses of her memory were always accompanied by the residual hope that someday, their family might come together again. Twisted nightmares of a surreal hellscape world descended upon her every night, shattered only when her own screams jolted her awake. Each warped memory became her new reality and slowly, she descended into a world of never-ending torture.

It was Date who came to her rescue every single time, kneeling by her side, bringing her tea, stroking her hair, and eventually holding her against his warm body until she could sink back into restless slumber once again. But his familiar presence could only stave away the cruel images momentarily, providing little more than a fleeting respite from agony.

It was no wonder that she had agreed so willingly to his proposal.

* * *

An ancient but controversial therapy technique, the psychiatrist had said. He was a foreigner who spoke with Japanese that was imperfect yet charmingly lilting. His position as a consultant for a psychological profiling unit of the MPD adjacent to ABIS had brought him within Date’s orbit. He had traveled far and wide throughout his life and, as a result, had gained an impressively wide breadth of knowledge which made him an asset to serial investigations. He had read Date’s exhaustion and unease with uncanny precision and had offered a new avenue for him to consider in caring for his ward.

For Mizuki, he would consider anything.

Her recovery had been proceeding slowly, if “recovery” could even be an apt description at all. Time with her stretched into an eternity, an endless ceremony of patience and support and reassurance. They were alone in the world with only each other; taking care of Iris through her treatment had become Hitomi’s full-time job and not even Aiba remained to stave away the vacuous silence in Date’s head. He was Mizuki’s pillar of faith and she was his purpose, and he had sworn to show up for her in her every hour of need: when her hands reached for the void, he held them; when her broken wails rang out through the night, he lay by her side; when the weight of cruel visions threatened to crush her and suffocate her, Date gave the breath of life.

It was no wonder that she had agreed so willingly to his proposal.

* * *

The tea had been brewed with psilocybin mushrooms which would induce powerful psychedelic effects. In an altered state, Mizuki would be better able to access her traumatic memories, which Date would then supplement with positive associations. Together, they had agreed to reenact the murder of Renju Okiura in the body of Shoko Nadami.

The effects began almost immediately as she sipped the revoltingly bitter drink. For the first time in two months, calm and even bliss eased her tension. The apartment that had become her home melted into a pleasant haze of orange light, bathing her in fuzzy warmth as she sank into the armchair. She felt open. Safe.

An old memory bubbled up to the surface of her vision—her tiny hands clasped firmly in the those of her parents, one on either side of her as they swung her back and forth through the air. An echoing laughter rang out, crisp and bright. That same joy that Mizuki had felt in that moment flowed through her with the tea, filling her to the brim with euphoric love. She looked up and absorbed the details of their faces: Mom’s benevolent smile and Daddy’s kind eyes, both so foreign yet familiar in her swimming consciousness. Their features washed over her, lighting up her skin with an otherworldly glow, transforming her. She was Shoko. She was Renju. They were her.

Without quite realizing how, Mizuki had been transported to Bloom Park—one that was alive with the sights and smells of summer fun and happy families. Around her, familiar scenes unfurled against the backdrop of a blood red sky. She could feel the hard plastic of the panda ride against her legs, the refreshing fizz of cream soda against her tongue, the enticing aroma of sizzling hot festival food wafting along on a breeze that rustled through her hair. A smooth trail of aura wisped behind her with every step she took deeper into the park, like a marker of where she had been. And when she finally gazed up at the shimmering violet structure of the carousel, it was alive with the resonant tinkle of a happy jingle and the echoing cheers of excited children. Horses rose up and down, their legs galloping steadily. And then the woman came into view, bound to the saddle of a majestic steed, her supple thighs embracing its rump. A stunning halo of light circled her head as it bowed low in reverie. And Mizuki knew it was Shoko, it was Renju, it was the warm love that glowed inside of her as cold steel pierced through her heart.

The world was alight with scalding fire, a steady pressure thumping bitter ice through her chest. It rocked through her body like a drumbeat, controlling, paralyzing. But it soon ceased as quickly as it had begun. The heat dissipated, and she felt herself bound in a firm embrace. Strange textures brushed across her flesh, gripping and tight. She became a statue, a doll, set on display for the world to see. The vivid, sensual world that was half shrouded in darkness. A new kind of cold wrapped around her, raw and crisp as it seeped into her skin. But a new kind or heat developed as well, unfurling from her center like intoxicating steam. Waves of peaceful calm washed over her once more and she lowered her head to drift mindlessly through the sensations aroused upon her by shadowy grey eyes.

* * *

Date had watched her carefully as she drained the cup, waiting for any sign that its effects might proceed in the wrong direction. But Mizuki had slumped peacefully into the cushions of the armchair, innocuously captivated by the bright sunlight flooding into the room through the window. When she seemed fully immersed in the trip, he bundled her up in a thick winter coat and drove her to the abandoned Bloom Park. His hand held hers as he led her through the gate, keeping her steady so she could soak in the memories that the location would no doubt inspire. In his concern for Mizuki’s comfort, he had forgotten a coat for himself, and his extremities burned with the icy chill of the January air.

The pocketknife he had brought was small and blunt, but adequate to the task. He had lain her body on a bench and stood over her, uneasy but resolute in the knowledge of what he had to do. He opened her coat so he could better access her chest, then pressed the unsharpened side of the knife against her shirt. His touch was firm but cold as he withdrew his weapon, then thrust it forward again, imitating the wounds that he had seen Renju’s likeness inflict on Shoko’s within Saito’s Somnium. It was imperative for Mizuki to process the brutal assault by ice pick which had stolen from her the body of one parent and the consciousness of another.

When he had finished the mock stabbing, Date tied a blindfold across Mizuki’s face, enshrouding just her left eye in darkness much like his own. The next step had been to bind her as Shoko’s corpse had been bound. He carried her to the carousel with ease, positioning her backwards atop one of the horses so her legs dangled off either side. He secured her tightly against the pole, binding her wrists and encircling the ribs just under her breasts with coarse rope. Her head drooped down, providing the final detail in their grim homage to the body they had both witnessed on November 1, 2019.

Date mounted the horse himself, straddling it backwards as well so Mizuki and the pole were nestled between his legs. He pressed his own thighs against hers and wrapped his arms around her torso, holding her in a tight embrace. Grievous love overwhelmed him as he reflected upon the two months he had spent carrying her pain with her. Elegant words surfaced out of the depths of his memory: _Psychological trauma is an affliction of the powerless. You must _want_ to give Mizuki her power back._

He had promised to supplement the traumatic memories with positive associations as she relived them in her altered state. And she had agreed to the treatment and all that came with it—to having her memories imbued with pleasure and with undeniable perceptions of love. To be beholden to his hands.

Those hands shook with cold and self-consciousness as they undid the button of her pants and slipped under the waistband of her underwear. Mizuki’s skin radiated warmth against Date’s as he probed into her heat. He held her as close as he could around the icy pole, his face buried in the soft skin of her neck, tickled by her silken hair. As his fingers flexed and stroked, he willed his wordless devotion to penetrate her subconscious. Every hope for her health and happiness that he’d had over the past two months—four years, even—poured through him, pushing him forward until a sweet cry of ecstasy finally spilled from the bound girl’s lips.

* * *

Mizuki awoke with a mind that felt fresh and bright, liberated from the debilitating chokehold of grief and fear that had haunted her since the moment she had recognized the body. Her limbs were weightless without the unyielding tension they had come to know, and her nose registered the clean scent of laundry around her. A gentle weight pressed down against her skin, soothing and warm. As she lazily blinked her eyes open, she felt the reassuring familiarity of _home_ surrounding her.

And she could see _him_. Date. Her guardian in the truest sense of the word.

He lay facedown on his old bed, the sofa. His chin was propped up on one forearm on his pillow, his face positioned so he could watch her as she slept, while the other arm dangled down to the floor. As Mizuki sat up in bed, she could make out the gentle rise and fall of his bare shoulders where they poked out from beneath his blanket, his breathing steady and slow.

She pushed away her own thick comforter and let her bare feet touch the floor, absorbing its cool bite. Instead of her usual fluffy pajamas, she had been clothed only in the ratty t-shirt that Date usually wore to sleep. It draped off her thin frame, slipping easily off one shoulder and hanging down to her uncovered knees. As she stepped forward, she became aware of a peculiar tenderness within the crooks of her thighs, somehow comforting in its mellow glow, like the ache of a tight embrace or a deep stretch. Reaching out into the depths of her memory, she found herself unable to recall any of the events of the previous day—only an evanescent feeling of overwhelming happiness.

Reaching the sofa, Mizuki knelt beside it, a mirror image of the nights when Date had done the same for her. She picked up the hand that pressed crookedly against the floor and held it in her lap, warming it with the smooth skin of her thighs as she watched him sleep. Dark eyelashes rested over the deep bags that had bloomed under his eyes, a mark of the many nights he had gone without rest since returning to his true body. His face, once so foreign, felt as familiar to her then as the rhythm of her own heart. Unadulterated love blossomed out of her chest and she reached out, using one hand to stroke the rough stubble which peppered that sharp jaw.

* * *

Date drew in a long, deep breath as he was roused to consciousness. He blinked groggily, his functional eye slow to process the sight before him. But when it focused against the dazzling stony grey of Mizuki’s eyes, full of life at last, an involuntary smile danced across his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> _" The name Mizuki means 'beautiful moon.' In many cultures of the world, the moon is viewed as a source of life. It symbolizes wisdom, rebirth, and family reunion. Although the earth technically exists as a separate entity from the moon, we would cease to exist without the changes its gravitational pull bears upon us. Tell me, Date. Is Mizuki your moon?" _
> 
> Dr. Hannibal Lector is a bad psychiatrist. Don’t try this at home.


End file.
